


the blood runs crazy

by nearlymidnight



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Eve's POV, F/F, Season 1 Finale, Things left unsaid, Warning: mention of stabbing and things that go along with that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-07 01:58:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18863425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nearlymidnight/pseuds/nearlymidnight
Summary: So suddenlyThe madness cameWith its whiskered, wolven, ether pangs





	the blood runs crazy

It takes her by surprise, this rush of feelings, unlike anything she’s ever felt before. It had been slowly building for months, reaching its peak the day she realizes it was _her_ in the bathroom, casually mentioning she should keep her hair down. It was something she hadn’t put too much thought into at the time, she had always worn it up like it was something she was expected to do, keeping her unruly hair tamed. 

She’s not sure why it takes her by surprise. Maybe it was the easy life she had with Niko, one that was a practiced routine, like a performance, always safe. Maybe it was unfair to blame this on him. Maybe it was her, maybe this had always been a part of her that she buried deep and kept hidden for simplicity’s sake, for the safe - and boring - life she had married into years ago and thought she was supposed to lead. 

As she slowly allowed herself to let go of carefully constructed propriety those many months ago, her mind started going down dark alleys filled with dangerous primal cravings. A self-inflicted nick of a knife on her leg had turned into a monstrous thirst for finding the paid assassin that had occupied a corner of her mind that kept her up at night. 

It wasn’t just about finding her, of course. With time that thirst to find her grew to something she couldn’t control. She slowly let go of all that was safe, of Niko, of what was acceptable and expected of her, and finally allowed herself to think about her freely without inhibitions. 

“I think about you all the time,” unable to stop herself, the words kept tumbling out. “I think about what you’re wearing and what you’re doing and who you’re doing it with. I think about what friends you have.I think about what you eat before you work and what shampoo you use and what happened in your family. I think about your eyes and your mouth and what you feel when you kill someone. I think about what you have for breakfast. I just… want to know everything.” 

She knew this would be the linchpin, the moment in time where all her uninhibited actions would culminate and she wouldn’t be able to turn back. 

The moment she had stepped through that front door, she had lost her grip on everything she had been trying to control, it had felt like rough undercurrents threatening to take her into the depths of the ocean. Her emotions swiftly unleashed from the cage holding them back, an overwhelming feeling that made her numb as she walked around the Parisian apartment taking it all in. It had looked normal, she had thought to herself, almost too normal, like the apartment of any other woman in her mid-twenties. Except it wasn’t. It was the home of an assassin, armoires filled to the brim with outfits of whoever she was playing that day, an arsenal of weapons, and a fridge full of expensive champagne. 

She let those dark corners control her and had grabbed a bottle, throwing aside all the good manners she had been raised on and had been reinforced by society over the years. She deserved this, she had told herself, for all the agony this woman had brought to her life. As the alcohol reached her tongue and made its way through her veins, that feeling grew from what she deserved to what Villanelle deserved. It consumed her, turned into rage, into _justice_ . 

She had thrown open the armoire in the bedroom, grabbing fistfuls of the other woman’s clothes, ripping them off hangers with all the force she could muster. 

_Justice. For all those sleepless nights._

Turning around, champagne bottle in hand, she had lunged her foot towards the countless perfume bottles and makeup on the vanity. 

_Justice. For breaking into her house._

And then one by one, she had picked up bottle after bottle of the expensive bubbly liquid smashing it onto the wooden floor with all the force she could muster. 

_Justice. For Bill._

“I think about you too,” she hears Villanelle admit and her focus returns. She feels her breath catching in her throat as she watches the woman in front of her mirror her feelings with alarming clarity. “I mean, I masturbate about you a lot.” 

“Okay that…” 

“Too much?” 

“No,” the words ring truthfully, as she watches Villanelles eyes shine with honesty and a hint of vulnerability. Her mind slowly brings out memories of days and months past, where she herself had found her own hand wandering lower down her body while thinking of the woman sitting in front of her. “It’s just I wasn’t expecting that.” 

She watches intently as Villanelle sighs while looking around her once clean apartment, a small smile forming on her lips. 

“So you trash my apartment because you like me so much?” the hazel eyes focus back on her, inquisitive, expecting. 

“I… I know it’s not conventional,” she stutters, cursing herself for being caught in the act more than the act itself. And then she can feel it again, those thoughts creeping over the mountains and valleys of her mind, making their way to her tongue. “What do you want? Honestly. Don’t be a dick.” 

Villanelle shrugs, taking her time to answer, and she wonders if trying to find the truth is something she truly needs to pull out of the depths of her person. 

“Normal stuff,” she finally says. “A nice life. Cool flat. Fun job. Someone to watch movies with.” 

The last few words echo in her head, threatening her ability to breathe. Something so inherently normal, so human, that she’s not quite sure how process the words the woman sitting in front of her speaks with longing. 

It’s overwhelming, exhausting, and her body yells for a moment of rest, to collect itself. She complies, laying on the bed and closing her eyes. 

“God I’m tired,” her words break the silence. She can hear Villanelle moving, her steady breathing, the slight brush of her hand as she reaches for the gun she had left on the bed beside her. “Aren’t you tired?” 

“A little, yeah,” the words travel to her from the left. There’s a dip in the bed, a small moment of hesitation, before she feels the warm body settle beside her. 

Her mind struggles to rest competing with the increasing rhythm of her heart. 

She wonders how she ended up here. She knows how her body ended up here; her lack of self control stopping her from going back to London and pushing her to follow her deepest longing to that apartment in Paris. What she wasn’t too sure of was how the ache of her heart got here. 

She had been happily married, or so she had told herself, to a kind man that would never dare put her in harm's way. She had a good life, she enjoyed her friends, and her job... for the most part. She had been proud of herself for following her gut, knowing instinctively that these murders were not random, that there was something bigger at stake; proud that Carolyn had asked her to join her covert operation. 

And then she had started feeling. Feeling an emptiness inside her the closer she got to finding the assassin she was looking for, feeling a longing after seeing her face for the first time, feeling an obligation to catch her. After Bill had died, she had felt anger and heartbreak; but that heartbreak soon turned into an ache for something different, something she could feel in her stomach, between her legs. That feeling had turned to obsession… or perhaps lust, maybe even love. 

She felt as though she was slowly losing her mind. The push and pull of what she should be feeling in battle with what she actually felt, and what she wanted to allow herself to feel. The woman next to her had become a part of her and she didn’t know how to reconcile that, how to let herself accept that she was falling into a spell, a pull, unlike one she had ever felt before. Not with Niko or any other men in her life. It was thrilling, dangerous, and exactly what she was craving. 

“You found me,” the soft voice beside her chuckles. 

“Yes.” 

“Well done,” Villanelle says with something that sounds remarkably like pride. 

She manages a laugh, one of amusement. “Thank you.” 

There’s a shift in the bed and she pries her eyes open, turning her head to look at the figure beside her. She can’t help but think how beautiful the woman before her is, even when her face is littered with cuts and bruises. 

“Are you gonna kill me?” she hears herself ask, knowing the answer. 

She feels her heart constrict beneath her ribs as Villanelle smiles and shakes her head in a way akin to a child that has never felt the weight of the world. 

“Promise?” 

“Promise,” the woman next to her says, moving her body to lay the gun on the ground next to the bed. 

They fall back into another comfortable silence before she feels another shift on the bed, and she hears the voice beside her impossibly softer and closer. “Will you stay for a bit?” 

Her eyes blink open as her heart pounds heavy in her chest, feeling the knife in her pocket burn right through the fabric. She turns to her side, mirroring Villanelle laying beside her. 

“Sure.” 

She can see happiness and infatuation at the woman reflected in Villanelle’s shining eyes and suddenly that carefully locked cage flings wide open once again. 

Like the beginnings of a migraine, she can feel the thrumming of the reality before her, the bed supporting her and who it belongs to, the apartment she’s in, the person looking right at her with an expression so vulnerable she almost needs to look away. 

She feels Villanelle’s hand reach out to her, pull her hair behind her ear and caress her face, and it’s all too much, a sensory overload. The touch she’d been craving for months and the touch of the person that has changed the course of her life. 

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” she admits, as her mind wars over whether she’s referring to her urge to kiss her or hurt her. 

“It’s okay,” Villanelle says, in a voice so sweet she’s not sure the woman has ever used with anyone but Anna. “I know what I’m doing”. 

The darkness crasher over her, takes over every inch of her body and drowns her as she stares at the woman before her. It’s panic, longing, and arousal all wrapped up in a nice bow that she can’t make sense of. She’s scared, scared of what she’s feeling, scared of how long she’s been feeling it, scared of letting go of everything she had shaped her life around; rules and procedures, right and wrong. But it can all end here, she tells herself as she pulls the knife towards Villanelle, tears threatening to spill out of her eyes as she convinces herself that she’s making the right choice. 

She watches Villanelle’s eyes as she feels the knife pressed up against her, full of betrayal. “That’s rude” 

“Yeah” 

“You can’t,” she hears the challenge in the blond’s voice. 

“I can,” she declares as she pushes the knife into Villanelle’s stomach. 

It’s exhilarating, the resistance of the knife as it slowly breaks open the flesh beneath it. Electricity and adrenaline course through her, and there’s an indistinguishable rush of pleasure she revels in it, feeling powerful and vindicated. 

_Revenge. For falling in love with you._

She watches in amusement as the woman beside her gasps and moans, though the noises sound muted, distant, due to the rush of blood in her head, Elation blooms within her as she pushes herself on Villanelle, straddling her hips. 

She feels warmth spreading through her, settling in her belly; arousal, power, lust, revenge. 

“I can!” she repeats triumphantly, letting all of her feelings consume her. 

It has been months since her mind has been filled with thought of _her_ , her face, her eyes, her actions, what she is thinking and doing, whether she thinks about Eve the way she thinks about her, and it all comes rushing out through her hands into that knife, unstoppable. 

Villanelle struggles beneath her as the sharp object moves further into her. 

“I really liked you,” she manages to cry out through the pain. 

In that moment, something in her breaks. The trance, the rush of feelings that she thought could only be subdued by hurting the person responsible for them, shatters. 

She comes back to herself quickly, feeling whiplash. She takes in the scene in front of her with clarity, the knife she’s holding in place in Villanelle’s lower abdomen, the face beneath her painted with heartbreak, and regret runs through her veins. 

It’s the look in Villanelle’s eyes that makes her heart break, make her realize it wasn’t as simple as she had originally thought, that there would be consequences for her actions driven almost entirely by the feelings she had for the woman she was hurting. Villanelle, it dawned on her, was someone she couldn’t live without. She was someone she didn’t _want_ to live without. 

“It hurts.” 

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the first time I've written anything for this fandom, so please be kind!!
> 
> Depending on if people like it, I might to a Villanelle POV.
> 
> (And also, thank you so much for reading!) <3


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